The Haunting of Maddy Clare
Praise for
The Haunting of Maddy Clare
“A compelling and beautifully written debut full of mystery, emotion, and romance.”
—Madeline Hunter,
New York Times
bestselling
author of
The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne
“
The Haunting of Maddy Clare
is a novel of chilling romantic suspense that evokes the lost era between the World Wars that so wounded the lives of the young men and women of England, and adds to the mix an inventively dark gothic ghost story. Read it with the lights on. Simply spellbinding.”
—Susanna Kearsley,
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of
The Winter Sea
“
The Haunting of Maddy Clare
is a compelling read. With a strong setting, vivid supporting characters, and sympathetic protagonists, the book is a wonderful blend of romance, mystery, and pure creepiness. Simone St. James is a talent to watch.”
—Anne Stuart,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Shameless
“Compelling and deliciously unsettling, this is a story that begs to be read in one sitting. I couldn’t put it down!”
—Megan Chance, national bestselling author of
City of Ash
“With a fresh, unique voice, Simone St. James creates an atmosphere that is deliciously creepy and a heroine you won’t soon forget.
The Haunting of Maddy Clare
promises spooky thrills and it delivers. Read it, enjoy it—but don’t turn out the lights!”
—Deanna Raybourn,
New York Times
bestselling author of the
Lady Julia Grey series and
The Dark Enquiry
“This deliciously eerie, traditionally gothic ghost story grabbed me with its first sentence and didn’t let go until the very last…. Simone St. James gets everything right in this ghostly tale, and I’ll be standing in line to buy whatever she writes next.”
—Wendy Webb, Author of
The Tale of Halcyon Crane
“Fast, fun, and gripping. Kept me up into the wee hours.”
—C. S. Harris, author of the Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery series
of Maddy Clare
SIMONE ST. JAMES
NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY
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First published by New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, March 2012
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Copyright © Simone Seguin, 2012
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
St. James, Simone.
The haunting of Maddy Clare/Simone St. James.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-101-57723-3
I. Title.
PR9199.4.S726H38 2012
813’.6–dc23 2011033391
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For Adam
Chapter One
London, 1922
T
he day I met Mr. Gellis, I had been walking in the rain.
In the morning, unable to face another day alone in my flat, I wandered through the bustle of Piccadilly, the collar of my thin coat pulled high on my neck. The air was swollen with cottony drizzle that did not quite fall to the ground, and pressed my cheeks and eyelashes. The lights of Piccadilly shone garishly under the lowering clouds; the shouts of the tourists were loud against the grim silence of the businesspeople and the murmurs of strolling couples in the square.
I stayed as long as I could, watching the bob of umbrellas. No one noticed a pale girl, with cropped hair under an inexpensive and unfashionable hat, her hands plunged in her pockets. Eventually, the mist resolved itself into rain and even I turned my reluctant steps home.
Though it was only noon, the sky was near dark when I opened the gate and hurried up the walk to my small and shabby boardinghouse. I climbed the narrow stairs to my room, shivering as the
damp penetrated my stockings and numbed my legs. I was fumbling for my key with chilled fingers and thinking of a cup of hot tea when the landlady called up the stairs that there was a telephone call for me.
I turned and descended again. It would be the temporary agency on the line—they were the only ones with my exchange. I had worked for them for nearly a year, and they sent me to one place or another to answer phones or transcribe notes in ill-lit, low-ceilinged offices. Still, the work had dried up in recent weeks, and I was painfully short of funds. How fortunate I was, of course. I would have missed their call had I come home only five minutes later.
In the first-floor hallway, the house’s only telephone sat on a small shelf, the receiver lying unhooked where the landlady had left it. I could already hear the echo of an impatient voice on the other end.
“Sarah Piper?” came a female voice as I raised the receiver to my ear. “Sarah Piper? Are you there?”
“I’m here,” I said. “Please don’t hang up.”
It was the temporary agency, as I had suspected. The girl sounded flustered and impatient as she explained what had come up. “A writer,” she told me. “Writing a book of some sort—needs an assistant. Wants a meeting with someone today. He wants a female.”
I sighed, thinking of fat, sweaty men who liked a succession of young ladies in their employ. Normally I’d be sent to an office to begin work right away, not to a personal meeting. “Is he a regular client?”
“No, he’s new. Wants to meet someone this afternoon.”
I bit my lip as my stomach rolled uneasily. Temporary girls were easy targets for any kind of behavior from a man, and we had nearly no recourse without getting fired. “At his office?”
She huffed her impatience. “At a coffeehouse. He was specific about meeting in a public place. Will you go?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
